It took Pippin longer than it should have to realise what was so different about Minas Tirith. It wasn’t that they were at peace now, though perhaps it was related, and it had nothing to do with the fact that Strider was King now.

No, it was that there were women, women back in the City; old ladies and strong wives and fair young maidens with the blush of innocence on their faces.

When Pippin was young, he’d been overwhelmed with female attention, from the last days of Lalia the Great to his three overbearing sisters; and he remembered longing to go on holiday, on an adventure with Merry or Frodo where no lasses could intrude and mess things up.

But now, after more than a life’s worth of male adventuring, he found something almost refreshing in seeing the open faces of Gondor’s maids. Watching Bergil and the other city lads grow up before his eyes had nearly broken his heart and it was comforting to know that they were few compared to the number of children who now flocked the streets.

So Pippin found himself holding doors for ladies and saying hello to them as he passed them on the street. It wasn’t that he hadn’t done so before—it was that now it was a pleasure, and not a mere obligation. And if they were pleased by his attention and thanked him for everything he did or did not do, he was even more grateful to them for the levity that their presence gave his heart.